


Knightrook Ficlets

by TheSSChestHair



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSChestHair/pseuds/TheSSChestHair
Summary: A collection of all my knightrook once shots and drabbles from tumblr.





	1. She's waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written Oct 18th.

He’s great at zoning out. He’s not sure if it’s something he’s learnt to do with the job or if he’s just always been a patient man, but it certainly comes in handy at times like this.

There’s an irritating fellow in front of him doing his best to order the most complicated of drinks, possibly only to get the satisfaction of making the barista’s life a misery. He seems the type of arrogant man that would sue the poor lad for getting the wrong texture of foam on his drink but… he doesn’t want to assume.

He stands with his arms meeting neatly behind his back, a firm and upright stance that resembles something out of the military. He’s not sure if it was something taught at the academy or if it again is just something that came naturally to him over the years.

As the arse in front who’s most certainly suffering from ‘little man syndrome’ continues to dictate to the young barista, he finds his gaze wandering aimlessly around the establishment.

Light wood chairs with the barest hint of fabric on the seat to make them at least appear comfortable to sit on. Plain walls with a mixture of painted stripes in shades of cream and brown he’s sure have names like ‘cream tea’, ‘hazelnut’ and ‘mocha’.

The display cooler is a mix of bottled sodas and plastic wrapped sandwiches that look both unappetising and stone cold. He’s sure they’ve been sitting there a while.

His eyes then land on the glass display that acts half as the service counter. An array of sweet treats litter the glowing glass container. Walnut cake, brownies, apple tarts, iced buns.

Iced buns.

He hasn’t seen one of those in-

_“Daddy!” the little girl gushed, careful to keep her voice as quiet as possible but unable to hide the excitement exploding from her._

_“There’s my girl.” he chuckled as he swept her up in his arms._

_“You’ve something in your coat.”_

_He feigns confusion, playing the role of innocence to tease her. She’s her father’s double; always able to sniff out treasure when it’s nearby._

_“I’ve no idea what you mean.”_

_“Dad.” she whined as she stuffed her hands into his coat._

_He places her back on the ground and steps back._

_“It can wait, but first, my little doubloon, tell me. Have you eaten today?”_

_“Aye.” she nodded. “I’ve had oatmeal.”_

_He’s relieved that they aren’t cruel enough to starve her in this wretched place._

_“Then I guess you’ve no need for these.”_

_He pulls a cloth wrapped bundle from inside his coat and holds it out for her to take._

_She wastes no time in unwrapping it to find two large iced buns, still soft and fresh from the bakery. His smile is bittersweet as he watches his daughter’s eyes light up at the mere sight of such a common delicacy._

_He leans forward as if to tell her a huge secret to which she eagerly awaits his words._

_“I’ve been told these also have a surprise inside.”_

_“Raisins?!”_

_“Raisins.” he nods._

_She takes his hand and drags him to sit with her on her makeshift cot. His heart breaks as he watches her place the bundle of cakes between them and shares the two. He wonders how it’s possible he managed to be gifted such a selfless treasure as this angel before him, even in the most bleakest of situations she thinks of others._

_“No, no, my love.” he gently protests, pushing the treat back to her. “They’re all for you.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Aye. Now don’t go making yourself poorly. And I promise you.” he vows, cupping her small rosy cheek in his palm. “When i’m able to take you with me, we’ll feast on all the cakes and roast dinners you wish for.”_

_Her beaming smile makes the pain worth it._

-he hasn’t see one in… well, he doesn’t remember really.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a very stressed voice, fidning the irritating man has gone and the young lad is waiting for his order.

“Just a small black coffee please.” he smiles, watching the relief fall over the young man as he scribbles his drink onto the side of a cup.

“Excuse me?” he points to the display cabinet, unable to help himself. “Do those iced buns have raisins?”

* * *

They’re not his favourite cases to work but robberies are easy enough. They’re always the same. Forced entry, vandalised security cameras, and just enough bread crumbs left behind to lead him to the culprit.

Weaver is all too happy to take charge and question the meek old shop owner who’s apparently more useless than the pathetic cash register that’s been torn open with what he suspects was your average crowbar.

He listens to the man’s stuttered explanations as Weaver dishes out query upon query… he’s happy to browse the scene, searching for their first batch of bread crumbs.

Wires hand limp over the brightly lit shelving, now empty where majority of the electronics used to sit on display. It’s next to the rows of home furnishings such as throw rugs, cushions, ghastly ornaments that are a combination of the words LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE.

He gets to a small collection of decanters and ashtrays when he spots a beautiful dark wooden chessboard; a gorgeous set of marble pieces stand proud on their squares looking regal and inviting.

He picks up a dark marble piece that resembles a tower… he’s not even sure why he’s drawn to such a thing but he rolls it between his fingers all the same, observing the smooth surface-

 

_“Checkmate!” she announces triumphantly._

_He feels the surge of pride fill his chest at her win._

_“You’re getting good at this.” he observes. “Quite the expert opponent.”_

_He sees her face drop at his words and worry replaces him._

_“What’s wrong, little one?”_

_“I don’t want our games to stop, papa. If I become an expert, you won’t want to play anymore and I don’t want that.”_

_“Hey now. None of that.”_

_He gets an idea as to how to remove the glumness consuming her. He picks up his knight she’d defeated to win the game and places it in her palm, curling her hand around it._

_“As long as you hold on to this.” he begins, turning back to the board to pick up her winning rook. “And as long as I hold onto this, we’ll have a piece of each other’s army. It means no matter what, we’ll always play.”_

_“You promise?”_

_“Aye, my darling.”_

_Her smile returns for a short blessed moment before a distant boom thunders throughout the room._

_“I have to go.” he informs her, sorrow filling his heart._

_She surges forward and grips his hook, staring up at him with large eyes, boring into his very soul._

_“You’ll come back tomorrow? Please come back tomorrow.”_

_“You have my knight?”_

_She nods and holds it out for him to see._

_“Than i’ll be back, darling.” he assures her, kissing the top of her head. “I promise.”_

_It tears him apart as he makes his way to the door, watching her clutch the marble steed to her chest._

“Fan of chess, are we?”

He spins to find Weaver watching him with that judgemental glare he can never get a read on.

“I erm… I wouldn’t know.” he mumbles, somewhat embarrassed. “Never played.”

He places the chess piece back on the display and turns to his partner.

“Game of logic, chess. Always have to be one step ahead.”

Weaver’s words always have a cryptic tone to them which irritates him beyond belief but he remains silent.

“We’re done here.” he informs him, not even bothering to see if he’s following.

He follows.

* * *

Research can be calming. He’s in the comfort of the bullpen, coffee just in reach, and not stuck out in the cold questioning reluctant civilians. The only downside is it can be mind numbingly boring at times. He sometimes finds his mind wanders when the search takes its time.

Today is one of those days.

He’s scouring Ebay for specific stolen jewellery items matching the photographs in the file beside him. It’s time consuming but they have to cover all their options. It’s been known to work in his favour a surprising amount of times.

He’s all but ready to whizz the mouse up and down the page until the screen becomes a blur, when an image catches his attention.

They don’t match the stolen items, not by a long shot but he clicks the advertisement anyway, bringing up a larger image of what’s caught his eye.

A simple pair of ladies gold drop earrings with some sort of gold discs that dangle down. He’s no idea why they seem familiar… he’s mentally going through old open cases, wondering where he’s seen them before-

 

_She stands on his feet, holds his hook in one hand and braces herself on his right arm with the other, struggling to keep upright as she giggles uncontrollably. He waltzes her around the room, humming a tune and holding her firmly as not to let her fall._

_These are the moments he loves most. The sadness that lingers behind her too youthful eyes is completely vanquished and all he can see- can feel, is her joy._

_Her laugh encourages him and he vows to spend an eternity making that heavenly sound escape her._

_He slows them to a stop when he finally fatigues and lets her hop off his feet as he catches his breath._

_She nestles into his side on the small cot as he pulls out a small velvet box._

_“Your gift.”_

_“Another?” she asks in surprise._

_“You can never have too many.” he balks._

_She opens it to find a set of small gold doubloons nestled on a cushion of silk, both discs with an earring attachment looped through a hole at the top._

_“Many years ago, before you were even a twinkle in this pirate’s eye.” he explains. “I ventured to a place called Agrabah. I found many treasures in that exotic realm and among them, these two doubloons remained.”_

_“But dad, my ears are not pierced.” she worries._

_“Not yet.” he insists. “These are a promise, my little cherub. Soon we’ll be free, and you can pierce your ears, become the proper little pirate warrior I know you’ll be.” he tells her as he brushes her hair idly with his hand. “And once we are, we’ll be home on the Jolly Roger. I’ll teach you to captain and we can waltz under the stars… the world will be at our fingertips.”_

_“And we can go to Agrabah?”_

_“Wherever you wish to go.”_

_“I can’t wait.” she mutters wistfully as she wraps herself around his neck, nestling her head further under his stubbly chin and holding on as if he would disappear if she let go. “This has been the best birthday.”_

_“Nonsense.” he scoffs. “They’ll only get better. Believe me.”_

_And as he pulls her tighter to him, he hopes and prays she does believe in him, because once he finds a way to free her from this hell, he’s got the world ready to give her._

_His tiny little sparkle that lights up his life._

A crude snort has him turning to find Officer Morden leaning over him.

“Keep dreaming, eagle scout. Not on your salary.”

It’s only when he spies the asking price on the earrings that had enchanted him does he realise what the other man is talking about.

He closes the tab and goes back to his search, hoping he’d leave.

“I’m kind of surprised, a lot of us were betting on you batting for the other team.” Morden continues. “So who is she?”

“Excuse me?”

“The broad who’s legs you’re hoping to get between with those things.”

He keeps his temper from flaring barely as he holds up the file he’s working, and shakes it at the vile officer.

“No one. I’m searching for these.”

The man just shrugs at him and waddles off after muttering about it being a shame as he seems to need a good lay.

He knows the fellow officer is probably on his way to inform the others and have a good laugh about the ‘one handed boy scout with a badge’, but he’d given up caring what they thought of him long ago.

He reaches for his cup to find it empty and it puts him on his last nerve. He can feel the tension forming a migraine behind his eyes and it’s the last thing he needs right now.

He’s tired, frustrated… and is sick of losing himself in things that have no meaning to him whatsoever.

Maybe he should look into taking some of that holiday time he’s saved up finally.

A break away might be just what he needs.

Clear his head.

Get away for a while where the likes of Weaver and Morden and countless horrid crimes can’t follow.

He’s suddenly hit with flashes of that little girl’s mugshot, the bold red letters ‘MISSING’ jumping off the page and the countless dead ends that haunt him daily….

And he remembers why he can’t walk away.

He can’t take time for himself.

Somewhere out there that little girl needs him.

She’s waiting for him to find her and he can’t give up until he does.


	2. 'A little Princess' AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written Nov 1st.

Killian Jones, widower and single father, loves his little princess. 

Together they’ve travelled half way around the globe together chasing adventure after adventure.

Sadly, the call has come for Killian to fight in the oncoming war, being the upstanding Naval captain he is.

He entrusts the ‘Morgana home for girls’ in looking after his girl while he’s away.

Heartbroken to be separated, Alice puts on a brave face and knows in her heart that he’ll always come back for her.

Sadly, it’s not long before news arrives at the house to inform Alice that her father’s ship was sunk in battle. Her father is announced missing and presumed dead.

Once he’s gone, Morgana reveals her true colours.

_“You’re not a little princess anymore.”_

The woman is cruel, spiteful, envious of Alice’s love and attention she’s received and punishes the child with making her work as a slave for herself and the rest of the girls in the house. 

But Alice is brave and with a whole lifetime of stories from her father, she knows just how to get through her terrible time. 

She also knows that her father is a survivor and that he isn’t truly gone.

she feels it in her heart. He’s still out there. He’ll return for her. 

Every night she sits in the cold of the attic and carves chess pieces out of old candles and chalk, memorising each piece and how her and her father would play for hours, game after game. 

Morgana tries and tries but can never break Alice’s spirit.

A kind and mysterious old man lives in the large house next door.

_“That’s Captain Nemo. His son Liam is also fighting in the war and he awaits his return.”_

She never speaks with the man but has spotted him watching her often, with a kind smile on his face. Oddly, it helps her lift her spirits.

Until the day she spies an ambulance transporting a man into Nemo’s house. It’s believed that his son has returned… but he’s injured.

Alice is hauling firewood into the house one day when she accidentally bumps into him.

Him.

Kilian Jones.

Her father.

_“I’m sorry, lass, you must have me confused with someone else.”  
_

_“Papa it’s me! It’s Alice!”_

Morgana is quick to drag her back to the house, apologising to the confused captain and ushering the girl in to be punished.

Killian Jones tried his hardest to save the young boy known as Liam Dakar, but sadly failed, and in doing so, lost his left hand and suffered a nasty blow to the head causing amnesia.

He doesn’t remember her.

He doesn’t remember himself.

Kind Nemo is helping him return to health in thanks for risking his life to try and save his son. 

Fearing the Captain will remember, Morgana puts a call in to have Alice transferred to the orphanage. 

It’s a night where the skies open and a storm erupts. 

Alice risks plunging to her death to try and escape Morgana’s house by climbing her way across to Nemo’s. She has to see her father again; to make him remember her.

Everyone watches as the desperate girl crawls across a nimble plank of wood to escape. It almost looks to be over when the wood, coated in rain, has her slipping, but she’s a strong girl and she makes it.

_“Please! Papa please!”_ she pleads, crying, shaking him in distress.

_“I’m so sorry… i don’t- I don’t know-”_ the captain struggles.

_“We travelled to India, and Australia. We sailed to Italy and Brasil! You would call me your little princess! Papa you have to remember!”_

The doors burst open and the police charge in, ready to haul poor Alice away.

_“You have my rook! I have your knight!”_

_“Rook…”_ Something sparks in the captain’s memory.

Chess. 

As Alice is dragged out into the rain once again, ready to be thrown into the police carrier and transferred to the orphanage, Captain Killian Jones returns and screams at the top of his lungs.

_“Alice!”_

She surges forward, right into his waiting arms, and he holds her tight with all he has, right there in the downpour of the cold London rain. 

He remembers.

He remembers his little princess.

He came back for her.

She’s no longer alone.


	3. The struggle with Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written Nov 22nd.

Rogers find himself prioritising his weekly games of chess over additional research and police work. 

He finds himself bringing more than just a marmalade sandwich with him the more games they play. 

It starts with just a hot tea or some added steamed veggies cos “you can’t live on marmalade.”

But it’s then a scarf or a thicker coat because winter’s upon them and “thought you could do with something warmer.”

And he finds himself thinking of her often, mostly worried about her; concerned for her welfare. 

Then he’s dragging space heaters and groceries to her little hovel because the time he suggested contacting a refuge to get her a decent room, she blew up at him and he spent a whole week trying to regain her trust in him. He respects that she’s independent and doesn’t want interference in her life… no matter how badly he wants to see her off the streets. 

He also finds himself taking her to dinner after each game because he wants to make sure she at least gets a hot meal once a week, and if he’s honest, he can’t bear the thought of parting, terrified he’s going to get a call one day to find her injured or worse being out there on her own.

She laughs at his choice of music in his car, he’s slightly offended but when he sees the laughter and amusement twinkle in her eyes, he can’t help but turn ‘nothing’s gonna stop us now’ up a tad higher. 

It worries him that he’s becoming too close to the girl. He wonders if this fatherly protection he feels for her is because the Eloise case is closed and he’s now projecting his obsession onto her. 

He can see she’s starting to idolise him. She subtly looks for his approval and through all her teasing, can see someone longing for a parent’s love.

The first time he puts an arm around her shoulder and lets her cry for a lost friend rocks him. He finds it almost as a natural instinct, and once her head is on his shoulder it feels as if he’s done this his whole life. 

It scares him. 

It confuses him.

And it’s suddenly the thing that makes him get out of bed in the morning.

Rogers would give his other hand for that girl. 

That Tilly. 


	4. Prompt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rogers and Tilly are together in his car, and because he loves 80s’ music he always listens to that oldie channel, and guess what’s on? ‘Belfast Child’, you know, that song that’s based on that old Irish folk song She moves through the fair, and at some point they look at each other and IDK"

“Nice wheels.” she comments as he turns the key and the engine roars to life.

“Seatbelt.”

She rolls her eyes and does as he commands, making a show of clicking the device in place. 

They pull out of the parking space and she turns to watch Seattle’s lights glow against the night sky through the window beside her. 

She doesn’t comment on the radio playing Mr. Mister, but by the time Tears for fears begins to play, she’s ribbing his choice in radio station. 

“You’re showing your age, detective.” she teases, revelling in his disgruntled glare. 

Truth is, he’s not as insulted as he appears, he finds he quite enjoys the girl’s teasing. It’s nice, he thinks. 

As the last notes of ‘Everybody wants to rule the world’ fade out, the start of the next song begins to play. He doesn’t think he’s heard it before but there’s something about it that’s familiar. 

Rogers doesn’t notice that he’s subconsciously humming along softly, wondering just where he knows the melody from.

He spares a glance over to his passenger when he notices she’s become rather silent, only to find her staring at the radio with a haunted look.

“You alright?” he finds himself asking.

A second glance finds her haunted gaze now staring at him. It frightens him a little, something clearly has spooked her. 

“Is my singing that bad?” he asks, trying to bring her back with humour but it doesn’t work.

“I can walk from here, detective.” she announces suddenly, reaching for her bag in the footwell and wrestling to get her seatbelt off. 

He slows the car before he begins to protest, concerned for her dramatic change.

“Tilly, what’s wrong? You don’t have to walk, we’re not far-”

“I have to go. Here’s fine.” she rushes, wrestling with the car door.

“Tilly, wait- just wait- Alice, stop-”

She freezes and stares at him.

“What did you call me?”

“Tilly.” he scrambles, not knowing where on earth that name came from. “Sorry, Tilly.” he continues to correct himself. 

It’s too late. She turning and running from the car, disappearing into the darkness before his eyes. He sighs contemplates following her. She’s clearly troubled and he fears it has somehow been his fault. 

His phone rips him from his inner turmoil as the name Weaver flashes up on screen. The man has terrible timing, he thinks. 

Unable to follow the girl, he decides to leave her be. He’ll see her again soon enough, he’s sure of it. And whatever it was that caused her distress, he vows to get to the bottom of it.

He doesn’t like to see her sad. 


	5. Prompt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "After Hook and Alice reunite he took her to love with him. And when she can’t sleep he sings her the lullaby"

Four hours ago he’d been Detective Rogers. Just a lonely Seattle officer trying his best to fill an empty void by making a difference out on the streets.

Now? Now he was holding Alice to his chest in a vice grip, cradling her to him as if to protect her from the outside world as she held her arms tight around him in return.

Alice. Not Tiily. But Alice. His daughter. He’d found her.

“What do we do now?” her soft, unsure words hit him.

And he found his answer was on the tip on his tongue before he’d even processed her question.

“We go home.” 

* * *

He kept his arm around her shoulder even as he guided her through the doorway of his sparse apartment. Both stood for a moment and took in the small one bedroom space, neat and orderly just as he’s alway been. He’d forgotten that he’d been living as a single man with no dependants, and finds his modern home bears a striking resemblance to the home they once shared long ago, forty feet up in the air.

He notices that Alice hasn’t spoken yet, and fears that she’ll not want to stay in such a place with him. 

“Just like old times?” she teases 

And he can’t help chuckling as he feels the anxiety drain from his shoulders.

* * *

She sits at the breakfast bar and watches as he cooks them both a late dinner. He’d insisted she take her coat and shoes off; she wasn’t going anywhere anymore. She was home now. And as she sat swinging her socked feet from the barstool she felt more than the warmth from the cooker embrace her, it was the warmth of having family again. 

She mattered again. 

She’d found her tether.

* * *

“We’ll have to find a bigger place to live starting tomorrow.” he mumbles as he holds her atop the small bed in his room. 

He wants to be there as she falls asleep. He’s missed this far too often and she may be grown now but for one night he wants to relish in his little girl finally being back in his arms.

“Where?” she asks.

“Wherever you wish.” he assures her, but a thought suddenly crosses his mind. “Would you want to go back?”

There’s silence as she ponders his question. “I don’t know.” she admits. “I quite like it here.” 

The room settles into silence again. He thinks she’s finally fallen asleep until her demands begin to come out.

“Somewhere with a big garden.” 

“The biggest.”

“Really?” 

“Well the biggest one a detective’s salary can buy.” 

Her chuckle spurs his own and as her arm tightens around him, he finds himself humming a familiar lullaby out of instinct. 

She doesn’t speak again, but the tell tale feeling of moisture on his shirt tells him she’s crying. He lets her. He just  continues humming the lullaby because she’s nothing to fear anymore. He’s never leaving her again.

“Papa? I missed you.”

He squeezes his eyes tight, hoping to stop the rush of water filling his eyes. 

“I missed you more, love.” he promises as he kisses the top of her head. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He ends up falling asleep next to her.


	6. Prompt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rogers ala s1 moment with David when the curse breaks?"

Rogers threw the carry on bag onto the back seat and slammed the door before storming round to the driver’s side. He had to get away, even if only for a few days. He’d had enough of this town, these people, Hyperion Heights was not the place it used to be. Weaver, Eloise, Roni- none of them were who he thought they were, each of them playing him; using him for things he didn’t understand.

He was done.

He whacked the Chevy into 3rd gear and pressed down on the gas pedal, windshield wipers working furiously to keep the lashing rain from his view. The bridge was just at the bottom, his escape well within view.

Suddenly, a jolt of light swept across his vision and his mind began to flood with memories. History of another life assaulted him, rocking him into a cloudy haze until his thoughts began to clear. 

Pirate.

Captain.

Curse.

Tower.

Poison.

Alice.

**_Alice_**.

Realisation slammed into him as he gasped. All this time he’d been with her. His daughter, cursed to live on the streets, believing she was alone and nothing but a mere informant; a pawn for those willing to play. 

Anger began to bubble up inside, rage shooting through his veins as the reality of their situation set in, but before he could see sense, a figure was stepping out into the road, right into the line of his car.

He slammed the breaks hard, fear rattling in his bones as the car skidded to a halt, right in front of the hooded figure. They jumped, startled at the near collision. The cloaked head turned rapidly to stare at him.

And their eyes locked.

Two sets of identical blue eyes bore into the other in shock, the patter of rain and the gentle hum of the engine were the only sounds able to make it through the ringing in his ears.

He’d almost killed his own daughter.

Moments ticked by as both were frozen, taking the other in. It wasn’t until he saw her mouth move, those two syllables he knew so well, fall from her lips.

“Papa?”

And he was tearing from his seat and out of the car towards her. 

“Alice!”

The awe that fell across her face had him colliding into her, unable to bear any space between them any longer.

His arms wrapped around her fiercely as she clung back, rain pouring over them as he spun his daughter round.

“You remember!”

“I do.”

“You found me!”

“Of course I did.”

He answered every question, reassures ever fear. He was so close to losing everything, was on his way to giving in to what those villainous bastards wanted.

He’d almost left her once again.

He’d never have forgiven himself.

But for now… for now they could all go to hell as far as he was concerned. He had what he wanted now.

Finally. 


	7. Tumblr prompt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So I was thinking about how KnightRook would have so much time in that tower and then... Hook teaching Alice to defend herself because she's seen him with his sword and wants to be just like him. So, a sword lesson it is. Could you make this happen please? XD"

He’s caught her a number of times, eyeing the blade in the corner of the room. He’s even caught her trying to unsheathe the cutlass a couple of times, luckily catching her in time before she can accidentally injures herself.

He doesn’t blame her curiosity. It’s shiny and screams danger and adventure. She’s his child after all. 

He wants to believe that she’ll never have to defend herself because he’ll always be there to protect her, but Killian has lived a life where he knows that kind of naivety is useless. He’s also believes she will be free of this tower one day, and when she is, he wants her to be ready for anything the world outside throws at her… good or bad.

So when he hands her a whittled down branch one day and asks her to stand, the look of wonder and anticipation in her eyes let’s him know he’s doing the right thing. 

She’s a little clumsy at first. It’s to be expected of course, but the lass- she’s so eager to learn and to impress, she rushes her lesson and makes mistakes.

“Patience, Alice.” he repeats calmly. “It’s not a race, love. Give yourself a chance.”

She gets better over the months. Soon she’s got a handle on the basic defence and strike manoeuvres and he’s proud to see her progress. 

She’s a cocky little thing, always trying to throw in her own spin on their lessons. If it were any other time he’d be chuckling at her enthusiasm, but showing off during a fight that could have the potential to end in your demise is never a good idea. 

The look of shock on her face when she strikes his branch and breaks it lets him know she’s ready for the real thing.

He brings home a cutlass. Smaller than his, the appropriate size for a child. He made sure the bladesmith hadn’t sharpened it yet; he wants her to adapt to the weight and feel of a real sword first, slicing and dicing can come much later.

He’s sure he feels a few ribs break when she wraps him up in a crushing hug.

He makes sure to wrap the blade of his own sword in a tight binding and then they’re practicing for real. She becomes frustrated more, the weight of a real sword throwing off her balance. Her arms not strong enough yet and her aim a little wonky. 

He assures her over and over that she’ll get there, it takes time, but the stubborn lass wants to be a expert within minutes. 

He silent tells the gods they owe him one for having the patience of a saint for dealing with her frustrated tantrums. 

The day she manages to deflect his strikes perfectly and land him on his hide is a momentous occasion. 

She struts around the tower and holds her head high for the rest of the day. Pride and confidence ooze from her and her eyes twinkle with life, stronger than he’d ever seen before.

He lets her bask in it, let’s her have this day. She’s done well and made him proud… and really, who is he to chastise her for being a little over confident when it’s like looking in the mirror?

She’s his child after all. 


	8. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First steps & first word

**First words**

 

He remembers her being 7 months old, sitting on his tummy and using the curve of his hook as a teething ring, a quiet morning enjoying the summer breeze billowing in and lounging on his bed because he’s no errands to run today, and she’s happy to just roll around on him and the blankets.

It’s peaceful. 

Then the clear crisp sound of “daadaa” falls from her mouth and he’s shocked.

And he repeats it back to her, needing to know if it was a one off or if she’d really just spoken her first words.

And a string of “dadadadada” begins with her smacking his chest and bouncing her terry clothed hide on his ribcage for emphasis.

But now she’s 5 years old and is a constant little chatterbox. Every sentence from her mouth is a question followed by another question… and it never ends. 

From the moment he opens his eyes to the time he’s putting her to bed.

But he never ever discourages her. Even on the days he’s stressed beyond words and just needs five minutes of peace to collect his thoughts and bask in silence.  

Because he knows he’s all she’s got.

He’s the only person she has to talk to, to ask questions from, to keep her company. He’d never in a million years take away her confidence in being able to talk to him.

And so those moments where he needs quiet, he begins a game.

“Sit with me a moment, love. Now close your eyes and just listen.”

He sits with her and listens to the sounds from outside.

“What do you hear?”

She mimics the sounds that drift through the air between them, and each one she describes, he tells her what they are.

“Those are chirps. That’s the sounds of the birds outside.”

“And that crinkling sound? Those are the leaves and branches, swaying in the wind.”

“That, my girl, is rain. The pitter patter of water drops hitting the ground below.”

He finds its perfect for soothing both her excitement and his temper within. 

 

* * *

 

**First steps**

 

He wouldn’t be forcing her, he’s no clue when babies are supposed to start walking and figures when she’s ready, she’s ready.

But one day he’s sitting by the window, sharpening his sword well away from her play area, one eye on her, making sure she’s alright… and then it happens.

She pulls herself upright by the small table and takes three wobbly steps towards his armchair and grabs hold. 

And he’s frozen in shock for a beat before he’s flinging the sword to one side and rushing to her, kneeling down and singing all the praises to her as the proudest dad in Misthaven because she can walk now.

It’s a sign. A sign she’s growing, a sign he’s doing right, a sign she’s getting stronger. This is the one thing he swore he wouldn’t fail at and those three clumsy steps are proof he’s not.

She gives him a grin with those two little front teeth poking out her gums and grabs the thing she was after.

Her soft bunny sat on the armchair. 

It’s then he suddenly realises that he’s going to have to move everything up to a higher reach…. and out her hands. 


	9. Rogers and tilly AU - sick toddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Rogers taking a toddler Alice to the hospital, after a nasty fall... He's losing his mind with worry, while Alice just doesn't give a shit.

He was livid. All he kept seeing was the slam of her tiny frame falling off the side of the wall and the thud, followed by the horrific cry.

He knew it was dangerous to let her walk along that wall and yet the idiot he was just couldn’t say no to giving in to her.

“It’s stopped bleeding now!” she informed him excitedly from the gurney she was placed on.

She’d been put in a cubicle once they’d got to the emergency room and were awaiting the doctor’s results from the X-Ray to make sure nothing was broken.

Once she’d gotten over the trauma of the fall, she’d become obsessed with the large gash running along her little leg.

“The skin, papa! Look! The skin! I can see inside!” 

Wtih every excited revelation he crumbled and grimaced, feeling all the more awful about the whole incident. It was killing him. 

“Alright, Tilly. Don’t touch it, please.” He begged her.

All sorts of horrid thoughts ran through his mind. What if they thought he’d been negligent? What if child services got involved? What if they said he was unfit to be a parent? i mean, single father… they’re bound to-

“Little Miss Rogers!” The doctor greeted cheerfully as he entered, placing the X-Ray scans up on the lighting board. “Good news, nothing is damaged, just a nasty cut!” he assured her with a winning smile. 

“She’s alright? Nothing’s wrong or badly-”

“It’s just a nasty cut, Mr Rogers.” the doctor assured him. “She won’t even need stitches.It’ll be sore for a few days and she’ll need a bandage, but she’ll be fine.” 

He sighed in relief but the tension and worry was still evident.

“She’s a child, Mr Rogers. These things happen. I’ve seen all sorts come through that door, believe me, this is typical and absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

“Will I have a scar like my papa?” Tilly asked as the doctor began to clean the wound, making him chuckle.

“You might have a little one if you’re lucky.” the doctor winked causing her to cheer.

Rogers could only shake his head at her excitement. Tension left him and all that was left was fatigue at being so wound up with worry and being unable to comprehend how he ended up with such a brave little girl. 


	10. Golden Knightrook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers invited weaver to dinner

Tilly made her way through the entrance of the police station, ignoring the questionable glances she still got from uniformed officers and headed straight towards the glass office, giving the door a hefty push. 

“Ah, Tilly.” Weaver greeted from his desk.

“Hey Weaver.” she turned towards Rogers who was finishing up a file and making to stand. “You ready?”

“Just give me a minute and i’ll be good to go.”

She nodded before letting him pass, leaving her with the superior detective. 

“So I hear you’re working now. How’s that going?” Weaver asked with genuine curiosity.

“Great.” she nodded. “I finally feel like i’m doing something right. It’s as if I was meant to take this path, you know? And Rogers has been a great help to me. I can’t thank him enough.”

“That’s good. I’m truly happy for you.” he admitted sincerely. 

“Right.” Rogers started as he breezed back into the room, grabbing his coat to put on. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

“Where are you both off to?” Weaver enquired.

“I promised Tilly Chinese-”

“Italian!” she interrupted. “Changed my mind, detective. Can’t go wrong with pizza or pasta!”

“Italian.” Rogers continued, giving Tilly a smirk. “I promised dinner on me after a successful week at the bayou.”

“Well I hope you have a good time.” Weaver smiled.

Rogers nodded before following Tilly out the door. 

He stopped in the threshold, something niggling at him. He wrestled with a thought before turning back to his partner sitting alone at his desk.

“Why don’t you join us?”

“Excuse me?” Weaver asked, surprised.

“Join us.” Rogers smiled. “Get out the office for a little bit, like you keep telling me, and come and have some dinner.”

Weaver sat stumped at the offer.

“What do you say?” Rogers asked once more.

A small smile spread across Weaver’s face as he nodded to himself subtly. “Yeah.” he smirked. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“We’ll meet you out front.” Rogers finished before turning once again and leaving the office.

Weaver chuckled to himself at the strange turn of events. He gave the mended teacup on his desk one last glance before grabbing his keys and getting up, ready to go join this strange cursed family on a night out. 


	11. Sick Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promtp: Rogers is feeling too sick one night to walk Tilly home from work. There’s a lot of avenues to explore there!

Tilly stared at the message with concern. 

Rogers never got sick. 

And here he was worrying about her when she was building up a panic, wondering if he was okay.

_Should she stay back at the container tonight? Give him space to heal? what was wrong with him? What if he was really sick and no one was there for him? should she bring him medicine?_

“Hey” Sabine interrupted her internal spiral. “You got real lost in your phone for a moment there. You okay, Tilly?”

“Yeah.” she replied, pocketing her phone. “It’s just- what do you do when someone’s sick?”

“What sick are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Detective Rogers said he’s not feeling well and I don’t know what to do. Should I give him space? What if he’s so sick he can’t move and no one can find him? I should bring him medicine, right?” Tilly began to ramble. “Oh, but what if he’s allergic? Soup! Can’t go wrong with soup. Or grapes. Oh, Sabine, I can’t just leave him to be sick, he’s been so kind to me- he’s been the only one there for me and I should return the favour, shouldn’t i?”

“Okay, first you need to calm down.” Sabine ordered in a soothing tone. “He’s probably just been hit with that flu bug making it’s way across the heights.” she explained.

Sabine placed a lid on a foam container and grabbed a paper bag before handing them to Tiily.

“Take him these, head home, and if you really want to, you can grab some NyQuil from the drug store on the way back. Sound like a plan?”

Tilly nodded as her shoulders sagged a little with relief.

“You have my number, i’m sure he’s fine but if you need me, you call.”

“Thanks Sabine.” Tilly offered with earnest before grabbing her backpack and heading out of the truck.

* * *

“There’s so many.” she mumbled to herself as she took in the aisle filled with painkillers, cold remedies and every type of vitamin.

She counted the bills in her pocket before deciding this was a case of an emergency and began to grab one of each item.

_His nose might be blocked. He might have nausea. These will help if he has a migraine. Cough syrup is a must._

Before she knew it, she was standing at the checkout with a carrier full of remedies as a boulder of anxiety rolled off her shoulders. She handed over the cash and made her way back to the detective’s apartment.

* * *

“Hello, detective!” she greeted as she pried open the door.

“Tilly.” he greeted pathetically from the couch.

“Wow. You weren’t joking about being sick, were you?” he chuckled at her honesty.

He looked awful. Sunken eyes with dark circles, red nose and deathly pale skin.

“Not to worry!” She beamed. “I’ve got just the stuff to make you feel better.”

She happily plonked the tub of gumbo and pack of beignets on the coffee table before him, along with the large carrier full of drugs.

“What’s all this?”

“Medicine.” she grinned.

Rogers sat forward and pried open the bag. He looked in disbelief at the amount of cold and flu boxes within.

“Tilly… you didn’t have to get me all this. It must have cost you a fortune-”

“Nonsense.” she brushed off. “Can’t have my favourite chess partner falling ill on me now, can we?” she deflected.

“Tilly.” he continued, reaching forward to place a hand on her arm. “It’s just a touch of the flu, love. You really didn’t have to do all this.” he expressed, overwhelmed at the thoughtfulness she’d shown. 

The girl really had a big heart.

“You’ve just done so much for me. And I wanted you to know it goes both ways, you know.” she insisted. “I wanted to help you get better.”

Rogers smiled.

“How about you just sit with me for a while and tell me about your day. I know that’ll make me feel a ton better.”

“I suppose I can do that.” she smiled back before getting comfy and settling in with a recap of her day. 


	12. Baby Alice unwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Baby Alice gets a bit sick and fussy, just wanting cuddles from her papa.

He walked the same circle for the hundredth time around the small room of the tower. Alice lay limp in his arms, head resting against his shoulder like a dead weight and her arms hanging lifelessly around his shoulders.

He was so tired, he could feel Alice was exhausted too, but the poor child was unable to sleep, constantly waking to empty her stomach with the nasty bug she had.

He’d given her a soothing tonic but the effects had worn off hours ago, and a child this small could not ingest too much of the potent potion.

“Can you try drinking a little more water for me, love?”

He felt her head shake in protest.

“You need to keep hydrated, starfish-”

“Nooo!” she whined, burying her head into his neck and tightening her hold around him.

Killian sighed, unsure of what else to do. All she wanted was to cling to him and he had nothing else to offer her but comfort.

“Cursed virus.” he mumbled, rubbing his hand over her back.

“Papa, down.” she warned.

Killian reacted quickly, placing her on the floor and grabbing the bucket nearby. All too soon she was once again retching, her little stomach cramping as she sobbed.

“No more, papa. Make it stop.” 

“I wish I could, love. Truly I do.” he sympathised, holding her hair out of her face.

Once she’d finished, he carried her to the sink where he prepared a wash cloth to clean her tear soaked face and to rest the cold against her forehead.

“Please, love. Drink some of this. For me?” he begged, holding out a glass of water.

Alice nodded as she grasped the glass with both hands and took a few tentative sips. 

She placed the glass down and reached for his neck once again, a sign she wanted to be picked back up.

Killian carried her back over to her bed, the hour well past midnight, and tucked her in, hoping this would be the last of it and she’d finally sleep.

She lay there, lethargic and sleepy, pouting as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Try get some sleep, my brave little starfish.”

She nodded as he kissed her forehead and blew out the candle.

Once he’d thought she was settled for the night, Killian climbed into his hammock and gave a sigh of exhaustion as his tired body melted into the hanging fabric.

His eyes began to drift slowly until a pitter patter made its way across the room and he began to sway.

Alice gripped his vest for leverage and hoisted herself up and onto his torso, leaving him with a few bruises thanks to her tiny elbows and knees before laying over him, curling herself around him.

He didn’t move her. Too tired, he let her lay there, running his hand over her hair as he softly began to sing a lullaby. 

Within minutes she was fast asleep. The gentle rocking of the hammock, the low vibrations of his voice and the warm comfort of his cuddles had her soothed into slumber. 

Killian closed his eyes too and let sleep take him, hoping the morning would bring her back to good health. 


	13. Rogers spying on Tilly's date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Rogers enlists Sabine's help in monitoring Tilly's date with Robin

He mindlessly thumbed through the wallets on display, too occupied with watching the pair five stalls down looking at jewellery. 

Rogers couldn’t help but be concerned. A small niggling at the back of his brain told him to keep an eye out, just for his peace of mind….

Which is why he was currently hiding across the market, sneaking glances at the date between Tilly and Margot. 

“What are you doing?”

Rogers spun in shock, surprised to see sabine standing there with a curious look on her face.

“i was just….”

She looked past the bumbling detective and smiled, shaking her head when she spotted the two blondes further down.

“I was just browsing-”

“You’re spying on Tilly’s date.” she corrected, amused. 

“I’m not spying, i’m just…. concerned.” he protested at her raised eyebrow. “I don’t know much about Margot and- I mean in Tilly’s eyes she’s the best thing since sliced bread but…”

“You want to know for yourself.” Sabine finished.

Rogers sighed in defeat, feeling foolish for going to such lengths.

“It’s ridiculous I know, being overprotective of a girl I barely know, but- Tilly’s special. I can’t stand the thought of anyone taking advantage of that.”

“Relax, papa bear.” sabine teased, trying to ease his distress. “I get that she’s special. And if it makes you feel better, Margot’s a sweetheart. She stops by the bayou enough for me to get a little girl talk in.”

Rogers smiled, taking comfort in the woman’s words.

The two turned to see the girls laughing as they tried on different hats, pulling faces before taking each other’s hand to continue through the market.

“They seem happy.” Rogers retreated.

“They do.” Sabine took a breath before turning back to the officer. “So now the freak out is over and they’re all fine…. you wanna go grab a drink?”

Rogers’ smile dropped slightly at her offer.

“I don’t drink.” he explained helplessly, feeling terrible for turning her down.

“That’s a shame.” she mocked “I guess i’ll have to drink all that sprite by myself.” she teased as she stepped backwards and away from him.

Rogers couldn’t help smiling at her, looking up shyly from his lashes.

“I think I can manage a sprite.” he teased back, following the cook onwards and leaving the young couple to enjoy their date.


	14. Two drabbles

_**Tilly attempts to make Rogers a nice breakfast to thank him for letting her move in... But she isn't the most organized cook.** _

“What’s all this?” he mumbled as he entered the disaster once known as his kitchen.

Tilly turned, bright eyed and bushy tailed to greet him.

“Morning! I thought i’d make breakfast! As a way of saying thank you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” he protested softly, once again taking in the mess.

Tilly placed the waffles out of the iron onto a plate and began to fill the holes with cocoa puffs.

“What’s this then?” he asked amused.

“We’ve got waffles and cereal, strawberries on bagels- you’re going to love those- ooh! scrambly eggs with those little baby tomatoes, and my special marmalade toast!” she beamed. 

“I usually just start the day with a coffee.” he chuckled as he grabbed a cup from the cupboard.

“Really?” she pouted. “Where’s your sense of adventure, detective?”

“It usually kicks in around lunchtime.” he smiled. “besides. Someone once told me all that sugar could kill you.” he playfully scolded. “But I appreciate the effort, love.” 

Tilly smiled at his reassurance. “Well if you’re not going to eat…” she trailed off, taking a seat and digging into the array of strange concoctions as he shook his head in amusement.

 _Having her around here was going to be interesting._  He thought as he caved and swiped a piece of marmalade toast.

 

* * *

 

_**Tilly/Alice wakes up and must continue with her cursed persona so Rogers doesn't notice that anything is wrong.** _

 

In a rush, it all came flooding back. Flashes, memories, stories, both puzzles in her head began to separate and become clear pictures.

She was Alice.

She was also Tilly.

She took in her surroundings and her clothes- the curse. Of course. 

She wondered just what woke her, what set her mind to become clear, was she the only one? who else was awake?

Before she could think up anymore questions, a familiar face crossed her vision.

“Papa.” she sighed happily, spotting her father across the street.

She’d been under his nose this whole time- they’d been close, physically, she’d shoved him, he’d held her arm-

And he hadn’t been hurt because of it.

Alice hadn’t realised that her feet were automatically marching her towards his direction.

The excitement took over her as she began to run towards him.

She couldn’t help herself.

She launched at him from behind and wrapped her arms tight around him, squeezing her relief at being able to hug him once again.

A nervous chuckle interrupted her thoughts.

She became aware of the stiff and uncomfortable posture the man she held had.

“Tilly…. what’s all this?”

Cold dread filled her as she loosened her grip and let him turn towards her.

Her heart broke.

Staring back at her were a set of clueless eyes.

Eyes that didn’t know who she was. Who she truly was.

_He’s still cursed._

Alice swallowed and forced a smile, pushing down the tears threatening to fall.

“Just… wanted to say hello! Ignore me detective, i’m just… being Tilly!” she force laughed, almost falling into a sob.

She turned before he could question her, ignoring his calls of her cursed name, marching further away from him before she broke down. 


	15. Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: S7 prompt as requested Rogers finds out he not the only one who can paint Tilly can just as well as he

“Make yourself at home, he said.” Tilly muttered, swinging her arms as she surveyed the living area. 

Rogers had left a couple of hours beforehand and she had nothing to do for the day…. so she began to explore her new home.

“Boring.” she sighed as she thumbed through his book collection. Law books, history books, the telephone book.

“Bland.” she complained as she rifled through the food cupboards, Raisin bran, coffee, crackers and soup- how old  _was_  he?

“Perculiar.” she pondered, eyeing the tiny CD collection. Sounds of the sea, Beethoven, AC/DC and- power ballads?

She bypassed snooping in his room. As tempting as it was, she felt it’d be cruel of her, especially as he’d been so kind as to open his home to her in the first place….

But that didn’t stop her standing in the doorway to chuckle at the ironing board set up with a pile of boxerbriefs on top.

“He irons his underpants.” she laughed to herself. “What a strange man.”

She’d already combed through her room the first night she’d stayed and hadn’t found much of interest.

But there was the small closet at the bottom of the hall she hadn’t examined yet….

Paints. Oils, waters, acrylics… brushes and brushes, canvases of all sizes- some used, some new.

“Exciting.” she breathed out, looking at the find as if it were treasure.

She examined the paintings that sat inside. Various water landscapes, ships, glimpses of memories she wasn’t sure she should be seeing.

She left them where they were and battled internally with herself.

“He did say make myself at home.” she bartered.

* * *

The apartment was quiet when he entered, placing his keys on the counter top and shrugging off his jacket. 

If it weren’t for that infamous parker hanging by the door, he’d have thought he were home alone.

“Tilly?” he called cautiously, wondering where the whirlwind was.

He peered through the kitchen and couldn’t see her, he could see the bathroom door was open, but further down the hall he saw her door slightly ajar and- was that his ‘sound of the sea’ CD playing?

He slowly pushed the door open and stopped in his tracks, halfway through the threshold, taking in the scene before him.

Tilly was lost in her task, painting a scenic picture with a rather dominant tower within the centre.

He couldn’t stop staring at her art.

“Detective!” she squeaked, finally realising he was home.

Her greeting pulled him out of his trance to find her nervously waiting for his reaction.

“I got bored.” she began to explain. “And I found these, and you said to make myself at home and- i’m sorry. I’ll replace the canvas-”

“It’s alright.” he reassured her, putting his hand out as a sign to calm down. “I… I had no idea you could paint.” he confessed. “that’s wonderful.”

“Thank you. I know it’s not much but… well, I always did like to dabble in art.”

“Where did- what made you paint that.” he asked, still transfixed on the painting.

“Dunno.” she shrugged. “It was just in my head. Must’ve seen it in a book or something.”

“Right.” he smiled, trying to shake the strange feeling coming over him at the image she’d created. “Well, i’ll get started on dinner then. You… you carry on.” he encouraged, still shaken by the painting.

He disappeared out the doorway only to pop his head back in a moment later.

“And no getting a scratch on my CD.” he ordered, causing her to roll her eyes.


	16. Hurt Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Rogers gets hurt during a case and Tilly worries about him

He feels himself waking, slowly coming to. He tries to blink his eyes open but they’re still too heavy.

_What happened?_

Last thing he remembers…. last thing he remembers- jewellery store. Masked robbers. Gunshot- oh.

Had he been shot?

He tried to move but the searing pain that soars through his left shoulder stopped him.

Right.

He was shot.

He managed to pry open his eyelids for a split second, only to be attacked by bright light causing him to close them again.

“He’s waking up- he’s waking up!” a panicked voice yelled beside him.

He felt a hand grab his right forearm.

“Detective? Rogers- are you okay? I was so worried.”

“Hey- Tilly? Give him some space.”

He tried to figure out who else was talking, recognising only Tilly.

He tried once again to open his eyes as the fog in his brain cleared.

A few blinks later had his vision take in Tilly hovering over him with a concerned look and an unfamiliar girl further back, clutching two cans of soda.

“Argh- Rogers, you frightened the life out of me.” Tilly scolded. 

“What happened?” he managed to rasp out, already knowing what the answer would be.

“You got shot.” she explained. “You might not want to try moving for a moment, I think it’ll hurt.” 

“Figures.”

“You can’t die, detective.” Tilly continued. “You’ve got so much to live for. And you haven’t met Margot yet.”

“Hi. I’m Margot.” The girl offered as cheerily as she could given the awkward situation.

“Nice to meet you.” Rogers mumbled, still out of it. 

“Maybe we should let him rest-” Rogers heard Margot say before he drifted back into unconsciousness, letting the dark take him.

* * *

He woke hours later. The room much darker this time and his focus much clearer.

It was nighttime. The halls were quiet save for the beeping at his machine. 

Rogers looked around the room, wincing slightly at the discomfort in his shoulder before his eyes landed on Tilly, fast asleep curled up in a chair.

“She wouldn’t leave.” 

Rogers turned to find Weaver standing in the shadows of the opposite side of the room, staring out of the window.

“Weaver?”

“She refused to go, terrified of the thought of you waking up alone.” he explained, turning to finally face the patient.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?” Rogers asked, confused.

Weaver let out a chuckle.

“Well it only seemed fair. You stood over me when i’d been shot. Figured i’d return the favour.” 

Rogers managed to huff out a chuckle before turning back to the girl asleep in the chair. He was touched she’d remained by his side. 

“She’s going to have a horrible crick in her neck if she stays like that.”

“Hopefully now you’re awake, she’ll heed my advice and head on home.”

Rogers for some strange reason hated the thought of her going.

“No, leave her.” he insisted. “Let her sleep.”

Weaver gave him a cryptic smile before nodding.

“If you say so.” he made to leave before turning back once more. “Glad to see you’ve recovered, detective.”


	17. The wednesday incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers getting his hair products mixed up with Tilly’s hair dye.

He kept nodding off on the couch but the excitable squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom area were enough to keep jolting him awake with irritability.

He loved having Tilly here, he really did. But he’d had a real trying day at work and the one thing he was looking forward to was a hot soak…. Instead he was stuck waiting to use the bathroom because Tilly and Margot were occupying the area doing heaven knows what inside.

The more he sunk into the couch, the more his muscles began to relax and throb from the day’s strenuous chasing of Dwight the serial stabber…. It was too tempting to close his eyes and just sleep on the couch….

Finally the bathroom door burst open and the two giggling girls appeared… with various colours in their hair.

Alice had faded pink streaks in various places through her blonde locks while Margot had a fewer number of purple streaks to match.

“So that’s what was taking so long.” he faux complained, happy to see them both.

“Sorry detective.”

“Sorry Mr Rogers.”

He waved off their guilty apologies with a smile.

“It looks great.” he encouraged their new look, causing them both to beam. “But now if you’ll excuse me, a hot bath is calling my name.”

“We’re going out.” Tilly announced, feeling like she should keep him in the loop. “Just in case you needed to…”

“Well, you’ve got a key” he smiled at her uncertainty. “Have fun, stay safe.”

“Bye Mr Rogers.” Margot waved before dragging Tilly towards the door.

Rogers chuckled at their hasty exit and ducked into the bathroom.

He let out a moan as his body sunk into the steaming hot water.

It felt good.

The hot water seeped right into the sore spots on his body and sucked the stiffness out of them, making him feel like a soggy noodle.

He shampooed and decided to do a deep condition of his hair- he allowed himself this one luxury. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a touch vain about his appearance and soft hair was his weakness.

Once the conditioner was thoroughly rubbed in, he reclined back in the hot water and embraced the moment.

* * *

His eyes jolted open, confused, unsure of why he was still in the bath and how long he’d nodded off for.

All he knew was the water had become cold and his hands and feet were pruned beyond recognition.

In a panic, he jumped up, pulled the plug, switched to the shower and quickly rinsed himself- plus the forgotten conditioner- off his body and made for his bedroom.

* * *

Once dried, he put on his pyjamas, checked his phone and hit his pillow, ignoring everything else until the morning.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he could see Tilly was already up and halfway through a box of cereal.

“Morning. Did you have a good time….. why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, distracted by her wide eyed gawping at him.

“What did you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

Tilly began to chuckle slightly which made him even more confused and irritable. He was still half asleep as it is.

“You should really take a look in the mirror, detective.”

Turning, he made his way to the bathroom to see what she was talking about, adamant she was probably giving him a hard time over pillow creases on his face or something simila-

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

What in god’s name?!

His hair.

His precious hair-

It was puffy…And all the grey’s that had sprouted through over the past two years; that he’d been secretly trying to disguise…. They were now very visible… and very pink.

He spun to find the shelf by the bath was holding not just his special products, but two very similar looking bottles that were not there before.

“It’s a distinguished look.” Tilly rambled from the doorway. “I think blue would have been better, but you should have told me and Margot you were looking to change it up a bit-”

“Why would you leave them over there?!” Rogers blew, causing the girl to flinch. “Tilly, you need to be more responsible!!”

He regretted his panicked outburst immediately, feeling guilty for frightening her.

“I’m sorry… “ she pleaded.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” he sighed. “Simple misunderstanding. I clearly wasn’t looking at what i’d grabbed off the shelf last night.”

“I thought you’d done it on purpose- it looks good, really it does!” she rambled, nerves getting the better of her.

“Tilly, it’s alright, just a foolish mistake on my behalf.” he sighed.

It managed to stop her nervous chatter but her sad looking eyes were still killing him.

“Do you think you’d be able to help me?” he asked, rather embarrassed.

She nodded, eager to make things right as he shuffled out of the bathroom to find his wallet.

Pulling out a twenty, he handed it to her, going red in the face. “A men’s no3. Dark brown/natural black. Do you think you could grab one for me?”

“The same one-”

“Yes. The same one from before.” he muttered, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

“Sure thing, detective.” she made her way to the door without an ounce of teasing, making him thankful to have her around.

“God, I hope she doesn’t tell anyone about this.” he muttered to himself, catching another glimpse of his pink stained barnet. “I look like one of those japanese cartoon characters.”

He dug through his wardrobe to find the one hoody he owned, wrestling it on and covering his disaster while he awaited Tilly’s return.

He was just extremely grateful it was his day off.


	18. Tilly asks about his hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: it's been a while and Tilly has become too curious to keep her thoughts over this subject to herself. "How did you lose your hand detective?" "Is it detachable?" "Could you change the colour?" "What if you lost it?" etc. etc.

It was a typical Thursday evening. He sat in his armchair while she commandeered the couch as they watched some mundane sitcom on the television.

He could see her fidgeting out of the corner of his eye in the glow of the television and it made him smile; he knew when she got restless it meant there was something she was wanting to ask about. Tilly was becoming easy to read.

But he’d wait for her to ask as he knew she would-

“How did you lose it?”

He turns to her to find her looking at him with wide eyes and curiosity he’d only ever seen on the faces of children. It takes a moment to figure out just what she thinks he’s lost, when it dawns on him what she’s referring to. 

Right.

He peers down at his prosthetic and hesitates.

“Sorry, detective. I shouldn’t have asked really-”

“No, it’s fine.” he offers humbly, easing her of her back pedalling. It takes him a moment, not because it’s a painful memory… but because he’s never had anyone ask him before.

“Truth is… I don’t remember.” he begins. “i was fresh out of the academy… and there was a situation in a building that wasn’t structurally safe. Several of us had gone in but… i’m told the building collapsed and- well, I woke up in hospital, lucky to have survived the fall, only I was a hand short and my back slashed to ribbons.”

“Must’ve been some fall.” Tilly grimaced.

There’s a moment of silence as he thinks about the deep criss cross scars across his back compared to the neat, clean end of his wrist. 

_Some fall indeed._

“It’s after that the drinking started.” He doesn’t know why he continues his tale; the urge to confess to this young girl is- he feels like he can tell her anything. As if he knows she won’t judge him. 

She feels like family.

 “Began to drown my sorrows until…”

“Eloise.” Tilly finished.

Rogers smiles, knowing deep down she’d get it. 

There’s another moment of silence only this one is comfortable.

“You must be able to play some really cool tricks on people.” She offered with bright sincerity which sends him into a loud chuckle.

“The urge hasn’t hit me  _just_  yet.” He snarks back.

“I’ve got a weird scar.” She offered with a smile and began to remove the leather bracelet from her wrist. 

She shoved her arm across the space between them, eager to show him the strange spiral that lay upon her wrist.

Rogers takes it in and…. he feels like he’s seen it before.

“How’d you get that?” He asks.

“Don’t know.” she shrugs. “Figured it must be a birthmark or something. It’s always been there.” 

He nods and lets it go.

“Hey! That’s another thing we’ve got in common, detective!” she beams, bouncing cross legged on the couch. “Weird scars and dodgy memories of how we got them.”

He chuckles again and shakes his head at her pure optimism. The strong desire to hug her and ruffle her hair hits him but he knows he can’t. He barely knows her and doesn’t want to frighten her off. 

He instead chooses to unclasp his prosthetic and chuck it into her lap.

“Knock yourself out.” he smirks.

Rogers watches her fondly as she fiddles with the metal hand, moving the fingers and tossing it back and forth between her hands in absolute fascination.

“You’re like a superhero.” she comments as she gives it back.

“I’m hardly a superhero.” he mumbles softy.

They continue to watch television in silence before he excuses himself to the kitchen.

“Well, you’re  _my_  superhero.” Tilly mumbles to herself matter-of-factly as he leaves, nodding her head for good measure. 


	19. Fewer walls and trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three father's day moments over the years

He’s not sure how he’d managed to stumble his way back to his secluded cliff edge, but he had. He’d woken with the need to reach out, find some word that Alice was okay, that she was safe. While most fathers on this day would be waking to celebrations in gaining their title, he’d just wanted some confirmation that she was still alive, still fighting, still with him.

He’d searched, asked, spent a hefty amount of coin on seers and messengers but it had all lead to silence.

His crushed spirit had lead him to bottle after bottle before he was finally pushed out the tavern and made to go home.

Home.

This was what he had to come home to.

The waves lapping at the rocky edge called to him as he stumbled down to the floor. He wondered if he should answer its call and plummet to it’s murky depths.

He peered down at himself where he sat slumped by the cave’s wall. Filthy unkempt clothes, protruding stomach, grey matted hair- a complete shadow of his former self- what father could he be? What man has the right to call himself a father when all he’s done is let her down?

Maybe she didn’t want to contact him. Maybe was better off without him. Better off without such a messy, drunken let-down of a father.

She deserved better.

He stared out into the curling rivets of the ocean water, barely glimmering in the foggy moonlight, hoping it’d hypnotise him, lure him to it and let him drown.

He closed his eyes and began to whisper a plea.

“Make sure she’s safe. Look after her. Let her know she was loved, so so much.”

A tear escaped his closed lids as he let his heartache consume him.

A peculiar breeze whipped through the small edge in that moment, causing him to flutter his eyes open once again.

And that’s when he saw it.

He knew it hadn’t been there before. He was drunk but not stupid.

A box with simple brown paper had appeared close to where his feet rested.

Reaching forward, he picked it up and examined it. No note. No sign of where it had come from or who had left it.

He tore the paper and lifted the lid on the box and his heart had felt like it had stopped.

A large dried starfish sat inside.

While most would find it a bizarre thing to gift, Killian knew exactly what it meant and who it was from.

A rush of warmth and love embraced him like a hug, filling him with comfort and care.

She’d sent it.

Somehow, somewhere, she’d heard his plea, felt his need and had responded.

She was okay. She loved him. She was still with him.

A loud chuckle accompanied by a broken sob left him as he lifted the starfish out and held it close to him.

He let the sobs come, crying out all his pain, his relief, his sorrow and his gratitude.

All he’d wanted was a sign and she’d given him one.

He held it close as he whispered silent thank you’s to the air, feeling ease settle within him and lift him up out of the darkness he’d let himself fall into.

He wouldn’t give up.

Not today.

* * *

Rogers could hear that Tilly was already up and making herself busy in the kitchen. He thought most young adults wouldn’t be functional until at least noon on a Sunday, but he’d come to learn since moving the girl in, that Tilly wasn’t your average young lady.

He finished putting his boots on and clipped his badge to his belt before leaving his room to go find out just what the wayward lass was up to.

He entered the kitchen to find his usual cup of coffee was already placed at the breakfast bar along with a bacon sandwich and a sparkly wrapped mess.

“What’s this?”

“Morning detective! It’s bacon and coffee!” she beamed at him as she finished making her toast.

“I meant the glitter bomb.” he teased, pointing his head towards the wrapping.

“Well, i’ve been here nearly two weeks now and I thought i’d get you a little something to say thank you. For taking me in.”

Rogers was touched at the girl’s gesture, sitting himself down to examine it.

“Tilly, you didn’t have to do that- you’re welcome here any time.”

“I know.” she added cheekily. “I just… go ahead, open it.”

She watched him as he shyly unwrapped the colourful paper.

A pack of fancy ballpoint pens and sharpies sat in a new coffee mug with a simple orange and yellow design on it.

“I noticed you were running low last time I was at the station and thought ‘you can’t have too many pens!’ And you also can’t have too many cups.“

“Thank you, Tilly. This is lovely.” he managed to mumble, unsure of how to express just how affected he was by her small, simple gifts. It had been forever since someone had actually gotten him a gift; something they’d actually put thought into.

“So, what has you up so early?”

They fell into conversation as they ate their breakfast, enjoying the companionship idle chatter brought first thing in the morning.

All too soon Rogers was rising from his seat and putting on his jacket.

“I’ll be back later tonight. I’ll see you then?”

“Nowhere else i’d rather be! Have a good day, detective!”

He took in her bright smile and perky aura and fought with himself over whether to hug her in thanks for her little present. He could see just how much it meant to her that he’d taken her in, given her a home and cared for her. She was a fantastic kid with such a big heart-

“You have a good day too, Tilly. And thank you for this.” he chickened out, fearful of getting too close, worried he cared far too much already.

Tilly watched him exit the apartment; door closing firmly behind him.

“Happy father’s day, papa.”

She whispered to the empty room.

* * *

“Get up! Come on!”

Alice yelled as she bounced on the mattress. She was far too old to be jumping on her father’s bed but she didn’t care. She felt like a kid all over again. She’d never known about father’s day as a child because the man himself was a stubborn oaf that would never taken attention off of her. Once she’d learned of the day they’d already been separated and cursed and- this was the first time she was able to actually give him a father’s day he deserved, finally get to have adventures together… if he ever bloody woke up.

“Alice.” he groaned from his pillow. “This better be an emergency.”

“It’s father’s day, old man. Come on, we’re having a whole day together. It’s your day!”

“And what if I wanted to spend the day sleeping?” he grumbled.

“Not allowed. We’ve got plans.”

“Oh aye?”

“Yep. Smee’s got the Jolly Roger ready and we’re off for the day-”

Killian rose in a flash and grabbed Alice, pulling her into a bear hug and making her laugh.

“i think i’m a little too big for these kinds of cuddles, papa.”

“Nonsense. You’re always going to be my little starfish.” 

He took every opportunity he could to hug her these days, knowing just how long they’d spent separated. He never wanted to waste an opportunity again.

“So tell me about these plans.” he said, finally releasing her from his embarrassing dad grapple. 

“Breakfast first, i’ve made your favourite. Then we’re boarding the Jolly roger, and the rest is up to you. The sea is your oyster… or something like that.”

“Just us Joneses?”

“And Smee.”

“What about Robin?”

“She didn’t want to intrude.” Alice confirmed with a little sorrow.

“Nonsense! Tell her to come. The more the merrier.”

“Really?”

“Of course, love. It’ll be an adventure.” he smiled. 

It had taken a few decades and a number of disasters along the way, but they were finally off to have their first of many adventures… as a family. 


	20. Zelena and hook moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelena and Hook muse over their kids.

Zelena scanned the photo, taking in the picture as she waited.

The apartment didn’t have much in the sense of personal touches. There were small trinkets and photographs slowly building, but she could tell this one was special. Set apart from the others and framed proudly on the mantle like an award.

“Fascinating.”

“What’s that?” Killian asked from the kitchen area, pouring them both a beverage.

“I just never noticed this picture before.”

“Ah.” he chuckled. “That’s the first picture we ever took together.” 

“She’s the image of you.” she admitted, turning to face the man.

Killian continued to stir the mugs, blushing and trying to hide a smile.

“I’m serious.” she continued, turning back to the photo. “Same teeth, nose, eyes- she’s a dead ringer for you, captain.”

“So i’ve been told.” he deflected, but Zelena saw the pride oozing off him as he made his way over to her.

“Robin’s the same. Image of her father.” she confessed, taking one of the mugs handed to her.

They moved to the seating area, Zelena choosing to sit on the nearest couch while Killian opted for his favourite armchair. 

“Ah, but she inherited something rather unique from you, love.” upon seeing her curious look, he smirked. “Your feistiness.”

Zelena shot him an unamused glare, thankfully lacking the venom she once would have used.

She never in a million years thought she’d be here; drinking coffee with captain hook in his apartment. She’d never have imagined the pirate being her only daughter’s father in law and yet if asked now, she strangely wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Speaking of, any ideas when they’re getting here?”

“You know what those girls are like, no bloody sense of the word time.” she complained.

“Aye.” Killian nodded. 

“I wonder what it is they want to tell us?”

Both former villains continued to sit in comfortable silence, oddly enjoying the other’s company. 

It’s amazing what can change over the years.


	21. Angry Killian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Killian disciplining a teenage Alice or Henry because I'm in need of a red faced angry pirate that's putting a moody teenager in their place. (Any head canons or potential dialogue on this would be fantastic)

_**I went with Rogers and Tilly while still cursed if that’s ok??** _

* * *

To say Rogers had had enough was an understatement. The computer system had crashed right when he was halfway through updating his paperwork, some ass on a bicycle had almost mowed him down causing him to drop his coffee down himself, Weaver had retreated back to his shady, hostile attitude yet again, and to top it off, his perp had got away.

All he wanted to do was put himself to bed.

He could hear the sounds from the kitchen the moment he’d opened his door which told him Tilly was home. 

He’d grown to really care for that girl…. but tonight was one of those nights where he wished he hadn’t opened his home. He needed to be alone. He needed his solace and quiet. 

“Evening detective!” her enthusiastic cheer greeted him from the kitchen, but Rogers couldn’t take his eyes off the living area.

“I’m making frosted flake sandwiches for dinner since we’re out of everything else. I’ve left you some rice mix in the cupboard though. I know you like  that stuff- hey! You’ll never guess what happened today…” she continued to ramble, completely oblivious to the storm brewing over the other side of the room.

Rogers took in the abomination before him. Clothes from her ransacked backpack were strewn across his coffee table. Dirty cups and plates littered the surfaces, his leather couch was covered in crumbs and the throw blanket that should have been laying over it was dumped on the floor.

The boiling pot of rage inside him boiled over.

“What’s all this?” he asked with a dark tone, picking through the disaster. “Crumbs, clothes, dirty cutlery” 

His rant began to build. Tilly’s head snapped up in shock a the sound of a plastic tumbler being thrown down onto a surface with more force than necessary.  

“For god’s sake, Tilly! You’re not a child and this is not a hotel! I can’t be picking up after you like this, it’s not fair I shouldn’t have to come home to this!!” 

Tilly flinched at his scolding. She’d never seen him angry before. It had her panicking. She wasn’t scared of him, not in the least. But the knowledge she’d upset him and disappointed him cut her to the bone. 

“Sort this out.” He demanded before marching towards his bedroom. 

The slam of his door had her shoulders slump and her heart fall heavy.

* * *

After a hot shower and a few moments to calm himself, Rogers finally left his room to apologise. He’d been rash and knew his outburst was uncalled for.

He was surprised to find she’d done a pretty decent job of tidying the place up, but he wasn’t expecting to find her frantically packing her bag with her coat on.

She was trying to ignore the tears falling from her eyes and it made his stomach drop.

“I just wanted to say i’m sorry.” she began softly. “You’re right, you’ve been kind and- well, I think i’ve outstayed my welcome.” she smiled sadly.

“Tilly, no.” he pleaded, reaching forward to put a hand on her bag. “Please, sit a moment?”

“I should just go-”

“Please?” he begged.

She reluctantly nodded and sat down, hesitant as he sat opposite her.

“i’m the one who’s sorry.” he began. “I’ve had a pisser of a day, things got on top of me and i took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

He hated that he’d made her feel like she wasn’t wanted. 

“It’s been forever since i’ve shared space with someone.” he continued. “Sometimes it can still surprise me. But I promise you, I want you here. I don’t want you to go- this is as much your home as it is mine.”

“You really mean that? You’re not just saying it?” she asked in earnest.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I didn’t.” he teased, trying to ease the situation. “Truth is, I enjoy having someone to keep me company. You’re a great roommate.”

Her watery chuckle eased the sorrow in his chest a little. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” he assured her. “Though I won’t object if you decide to pick up after yourself every now and then.”

His words had her letting out a full laugh before she held out her hand.

“You’ve got a deal.”

“Good.” he smiled as he shook her hand. 


	22. Rogers has a weak moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 'Its been a tough week and Rogers is really looking at the bottle as he's sat in Roni's, luckily for him, he gets some good advice thrown his way and a cheery face to greet him moments later.'

Havanna Club 15 year rum top shelf. That’s what he was staring at from his perch at the bar. 

He could smell the spice, taste the fruity molasses and feel the fiery burn as it slipped down his throat leaving a trail of release.

He wanted a glass.

Just one.

He needed to take the pain away. The heavy stress and helplessness he felt; years of repressed emotions bubbling up and overflowing within the past week. He felt like he was standing on a ledge and that bottle up on the top shelf would be the thing to pull him back to safety. 

He was done being responsible. 

One night won’t hurt. 

Just one night to forget and wallow; one night to stop caring.

Where is that damn barman?

Remy didn’t appear, but a familiar red head showed up behind the bar.

“Rum, top shelf please.”

“No.” the woman replied, not even lifting her head from wiping glasses.

“Excuse me?” Rogers wasn’t expecting the woman to be so rude or to decline him his order.

“Roni’s told me about you, officer. You’re off the sauce.” 

Rogers was becoming enraged with the woman. Hardly anyone knew of his sobriety and to be told so flippantly that he wasn’t allowed- who on earth did she think she was?

“it’s detective.” he snapped. “And I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what I do or don’t drink, especially to a bartender. If i want to have a drink, I damn well-”

“And then what?” the woman challenged him, finally putting the glass down and facing him. “You have one, two, twenty drinks tonight, and then what?”

Rogers stared at her, taken aback by her words.

“It may numb the pain tonight, but tomorrow it’ll come right back, twice as painful…. is your solution going to be another bottle tomorrow night too?”

Her cold hard truth rocked him. Rogers could only stare at her, wondering how she knew….

“Why do you even care?” 

“Let’s just say I owe you one.” she informed him cryptically, placing a fresh glass of Lime cordial in front of him. 

Before he could shake himself out of his stunned silence, a lively figure bounced onto the seat next to him and beamed at his presence.

“There you are!” Tilly grinned. “I was thinking, now that i’m officially your new roomie, I thought that i’d pick up some of my stuff from my container, only it can be rather heavy, and rather than dragging it across town, you’ve got that lovely car sitting out side- but only if you’re not busy. I could always jump on the bus but thought i’d ask anyway. So what do you say?” 

Rogers took in the joyful, vibrant young girl beside him and smiled. He’d been having a weak moment and if he’d succumbed to it, he wouldn’t have been able to be there for her like she needs him to be right now. And that thought hurt him.

He had responsibility now. She may not be his but he knew he’d taken her on as his own. 

How could he have been so foolish?

“Of course.” he responded, watching her eyes light up once again.

“Great! Thank you! I’ll meet you out front.” she confirmed before bouncing back out like a mini tornado.

He shook his head and turned back to the bar to find the red head watching them with a peculiar expression.

“Thank you.” he offered her, genuinely grateful for stopping him making a big mistake.

“Please.” she scoffed. “Let’s never mention it again.” 

Rogers watched her disappear out back, completely confused by her aloof attitude. 


End file.
